


The Best of Dark and Bright

by Terminallydepraved



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blood, First Meetings, Gen, Gore, Origin Stories, Violence, alcohol mention, non character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:44:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5406962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spiders gather in a web, come together under one head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best of Dark and Bright

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas yougei!!! this has been in the works for awhile and is basically me writing out all of yougei's headcanon meetings between chrollo and the original troupe members. enjoy~

“You don’t say much, do you?” Chrollo asked after his attempts at conversation were yet again ignored.

His companion huffed behind his mask, using the forceps to rip off another one of the target’s nails. Blood covered them both but it wasn’t much of a bother. They had both seen worse, had worse. Their trip through the building had been rough, lessened by their teamwork but not by much. Chrollo was still surprised by how well the smaller thief complimented his style of work. He took in the ruined state of the man tied to the chair, could tell that the decision to seek a partner was a good one.

Despite the pain though, the hours they had been at this, the man was still refusing to talk. Chrollo swung his legs, kicking at the air in boredom as he watched Feitan grab for another tool on the table where he sat. It was obvious his companion was getting fed up. Feitan threw down the tool, instead raking his nails down the target’s already ruined face, cementing the assumption.

“You make.”

He almost missed it in the scream. Cocking his head, Chrollo tried again. “You want me to try?” he guessed, still growing use to the accent that weighed down Feitan’s speech like lead. When the pliers were offered, he took it as a yes.

Studying the twitching mess before him, he set to work, his attention still on engaging his companion. “What made you decide to spare me?” he ventured, using the pliers to stab into the man’s thigh before giving the clamped flesh a vicious twist. He waited for the choked cry to die before continuing. “I saw you fight back there. You hardly need an extra hand.”

Feitan stared between the bloody tools on the table and the work Chrollo was doing, as if he were taking mental notes. “I,” he began, slowly working out the words before letting them free. Chrollo didn’t rush him, simply continued clamping and twisting, reaching for the water when the target seemed on the verge of passing out. “I no ask good.” It was punctuated by an angry gesture towards the close-lipped man.

Chrollo took a moment to parse out what that meant. “You have trouble interrogating?” he offered, raising an eyebrow. “I think you do just fine. I’ve barely done anything and he’s already in a very sorry state.”

With a frustrated sigh, Feitan shook his head. “Good pain. Ask no.” The man whimpered and Feitan snatched up a blade, jamming it between the patella and femur. Even Chrollo winced.

“So you let me come so I could do the talking for you?” Chrollo clarified, beginning to see the pattern to Feitan’s speech, the way he articulated his thoughts via his limited vocabulary. “I think that’s pretty fair, given what we’re being paid.” He grabbed the target by the throat and forced him to meet his eyes. “If you don’t tell us what we want, I promise you this will never end.”

The man sobbed, choking on the blood in his mouth. His lungs were probably a battered mess, the froth coating his lips signaling that at least one was punctured. Chrollo smiled sweetly at him as he rattled for breath, pressing harshly against his crushed ribs to make it all the more difficult. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Feitan watching, his gaze intrigued.

“No good door,” he offered as well, walking around the bound man with a handful of bamboo shoots. “Kill good. Pain good. You good door. Good take.”

Chrollo smiled despite himself even as the man spat blood, the breath punched from his ruined lungs by Feitan’s brutal assault on his deltoids, his triceps. With the barrage of shoots stabbed into his shoulders, he almost resembled a porcupine.

“Thank you, that means a lot coming from you. I could teach you how to pick locks,” he replied, handing another handful of bamboo to him when he finished with what he had. The man saw the pass, somehow finding the energy to struggle against his bonds. "It’s not very hard once you learn the tricks. In exchange, I’d love to learn some of your techniques. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person kept conscious for so long, after so much damage.”

Feitan hummed, focused on his work. “Deal after. Learn you on next.”

“You’re both— fuckin’ insane!” the man screamed, the first words he had spoken since they began to work him over. Blood seeped through the tattered remains of his shirt from where the muscle was punctured through, the thrashing only drawing more to the surface. “Fuckin’ kill me, bastards! I won’t tell you a thi—”

In an instant, Chrollo buried the pliers into the man’s crotch, ripping upward just as Feitan tore off an ear with his nails. The man screamed, thin and high. His sobs rang out along with a litany of prayers, apologies, and blessedly, the information they had been waiting for.

Chrollo looked over the blood-soaked figure’s shoulder and saw his grin reflected in Feitan’s. He never knew a job could be so much fun.

oOo

When the pain began to dull into a cold ache, Chrollo accepted that he probably wasn’t walking away from this one.

A few feet away, Feitan lay prostrate and twitching, his small hands furtively, failing to hold his entrails inside. The slash across his abdomen hadn’t seemed wide, but the sharpness of the blade had been more than either of them anticipated. It cut deep, cleanly. Chrollo’s severed arm across the room was testament to its make, his fitful attempts to tie a tourniquet and stem the bleeding even more so.

“Fei…Feitan,” Chrollo coughed, blood coating his tongue in an iron sheath. They weren’t that far apart, maybe a meter at most, but in his current state it seemed miles. He dragged himself closer despite it all, shoving aside the limp bodies of the men they had slaughtered, who had still held on long enough to do them this much damage. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Feitan gurgled in response, turning his head with unseeing eyes towards his voice. He wasn’t in any condition to do any more than that. Knuckles white, he coughed once and clenched tighter to his wound.

With Sisyphean effort, Chrollo managed to crawl to his fallen partner, a trail of blood marking his path. Black clouded the edges of his sight but he shook his head, resolute and grim. “I think we’re at our limit,” Chrollo managed to chuckle, whining high in his throat when the motion sent another wave of fire through his body. Using the last of his strength, he forced himself upright and placed his back against the cold wall, dragging Feitan’s head into his bloodstained lap. Remaining hand over Feitan’s lax ones, he exhaled and let the darkness encroach. “At least we had a good run, Feitan.”

Just as he felt himself teeter towards the fog blurring his senses, he felt a presence walk up, heard low conversation. Words bleeding into the ringing in his ears, Chrollo couldn’t find it in himself to bother. What did it matter, he thought, his mind sluggish. They were already dead.

Chrollo was ripped away from the warm embrace of black, a blinding pain emanating from his severed arm anew. Gasping, he instinctively pulled away, opened his eyes when his shoulder was pinned into place and the sensation intensified. It took him a moment to register he was being shouted at, that words were being spoken beneath the disorienting pounding in his ears.

“—ip your stitches, you dumbass!” The unfocused image of a woman above him filled his sight, her stern expression as firm as her grip. Her fingers seemed to dance over his wound, needle-like jolts issuing with each twitch she made. “Sit still until I finish, you move around anymore and your friend is going to split in half.”

That got his attention. He looked down, saw that Feitan had somehow pulled himself closer, cradled in his legs. A careful nudge yielded no response and Chrollo couldn’t breathe. With a strength built from fear and endorphins, he grabbed the woman’s dancing hand and looked at her with wide eyes.

“Do him.” His voice was hard, belying the pain and exhaustion steadily forcing themselves back to the forefront. “Forget me and help him, please,” he implored, choking on the blood still caught in his throat. He could have cried when she simply nodded, snapping something with her teeth before repeating the motions over Feitan’s still form.

“Keep still then,” another voice ordered and Chrollo, too tired to jump, craned his neck to the side. “Your arm is half attached. Don’t ruin Machi’s hard work by fussing.”

From what he could see, she was tall, composed where she sat on the rubble across the room. Even at a distance he could see the distrust in her eyes, the conflicted frown that marred her face. She had kind eyes, he thought. He managed a weak smile, letting his own close and his head rest against the wall. “I would hate to do that,” Chrollo managed, biting his lip through the pain that still came in waves. “Can I ask why you’re doing this? I didn’t think we’d ever find allies in a place like this.”

The far woman scoffed and the medic one, Machi, merely kept working, blowing an errant strand of hair from her eyes. “Intuition,” was all she offered, again snipping some invisible thread before moving her attention back to Chrollo’s arm. “You going to object to me finishing now?”

oOo

“Need a hand there, Nobunaga?”

“Move aside before I slice you in half too, Uvo!”

The argument melded almost as flawlessly as their teamwork cut through the band of grunts assaulting the boss’s headquarters. Back to back they fought, the swordsman tearing through bone and metal alike, the strong man crushing skulls with a club in each hand. The effectiveness was plain to see, though evidently to everyone but themselves.

Uvogin chuckled as he severed a man in half with a mighty swing, taking him out before he could fall to Nobunaga’s blade. “As if that little pig-sticker could even scratch me!”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware you had named your dick! That seems awfully mean, Uvo,” Nobunaga retorted, his words sharp but his face still smiling. “You should think more highly of yourself.” His blade darting out lightning quick, another row of men fell. A dozen more took their place.

With a laugh, Uvo let loose. “Did you confuse me for you? Let me show you how it’s done!” And with that he spun, his bloodlust propelling him like a mad dervish. Nobunaga was forced behind him and off balance, cursing as Uvo annihilated every single man around them in a spray of blood and laughter.

“You bastard!” a man shouted angrily, landing a solid punch to Uvo as he came to a rest next to him. “I didn’t say I needed your help! Try that again and I’ll make sure your fat ass is never in the way again!”

“Nobu, you need to lighten up,” guffawed the giant beast of a man next to him, his massive hand patting him on the shoulder, staining the fabric of his outfit red. “I can’t let you have all the fun.”

Chrollo wiped off the blade of his knife, half paying attention to the argument occurring beside him, the other half to making sure the last enemy was in fact dead. A sizable pile of corpses littered the ground around him, both from his own efforts and Uvo’s mad rush. It was a bit gratifying, his hunch to keep his distance from the others during the fight paying off. A blow from Uvo while unaware would have been devastating. His musing was cut off suddenly though as he was seized from behind, his cheek forced into a whiskery one while the rest of him was brought into the men’s space.

“What do you think, Chrollo? Don’t you think Nobunaga’s better off with my ass in his face?” Uvogin bellowed, his grin stretching so wide that it brought Chrollo’s to life as well. “I think it improves the view!”

Nobunaga scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Let him go, Uvo. He doesn’t need to be manhandled by you. Sorry about that, Chrollo. You ready to continue?” he asked, landing another punch that only succeeded in prompting another full-bellied laugh from the large man. With a kind move, he scooped up the fallen knife, handing it back to Chrollo when he found himself freed from the muscled embrace. “The others are probably waiting up ahead for the boss’s orders.”

Smiling, Chrollo nodded, taking back the blade. “Yeah, let’s catch up.” He walked behind the two, watching them bicker in the way that close friends do. It wasn’t all that often he enjoyed the jobs he did for the mafia, but the company on this one was definitely a perk. It was a shame he couldn’t spend more time horsing around, but access to the boss’s personal files wouldn’t wait for him to have his fill of fun.

These two were interesting though. He’d have to remember their names.

oOo

Despite the descriptions painted of Meteor City as a wasteland, a glorified garbage heap for the unwanted and forgotten, Chrollo could still see the beauty in a place like this.

He walked through the messy path, the dirt trail between hastily propped-up stands too primitive to be considered a street or road, and looked upon the hagglers and vendors. Grubby-faced children ran past him barefoot, shrieking and giggling as they tossed around some ball they had found. Chrollo smiled as they jostled him, his hand stealthily placed overtop his money. He remembered that age, the necessity of pickpocketing for a next meal. It wasn’t the easiest place to grow up but there was an understanding here, among the people united by hardship and survival.

That kinship was what possessed him to slow his pace, take in the ramshackle market around him. He had walked this path almost every day from his home to the main ‘city’ center, but he had never taken the time to peruse the wares on sale. To his left sat a crude wooden crate, the top scattered with all manner of items. Behind it sat a hulking giant of a man, his expression stern but his eyes soft. Chrollo smiled at him as he approached.

“Good morning,” the man greeted, his giant hands folded politely in his lap. “Let me know if you see something you like. I’ll give you a good price.”

A bit surprised at his gentle manner, Chrollo nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” Upon closer inspection the items were all scavenged bits and baubles, the same as all things found in the junk heaps that made up the landscape. A few bangles, a smattering of interesting wood pieces, some weapons. Chrollo focused his attention on the latter, moving to the side when another shopper sidled up to the stand.

His fingers alit on the hilt of a knife, his eyes entranced by the intricate blade. On a whim, he activated his gyo, took in the faint aura radiating from the piece. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, looking to the stand keeper. “What can you tell me about this?”

“Call me Franklin, sir is too much,” the man replied, easing over towards Chrollo’s end of the table to get a better look. “I found that particular piece a few days back. Something about it drew me in. I believe it may be a Bens Knife, if you’ve ever heard of—”

Chrollo barely had time to react. Within the span of a second, mid word, Franklin shot out his hand to grab the other customer by the throat. Leaping back, Chrollo watched as the gentle shopkeep faded away, a ruthless monster in his place. A handful of jewelry fell from the thief’s hand just before they were thrown to the ground, throat crushed.

Franklin growled at the prone form but settled back into his seat, his bone-breaking hands gentle as they collected the fallen merchandise, arranged them back into their neat little rows. With a smile, he looked back at Chrollo. “I’m very sorry about that. As I was saying, I think it’s a Bens Knife. They’re known to be very strong. I’ll let you have it for a good price, if you’re interested.”

Breathless from the complete shift in personality, Chrollo could only smile. “Yes, I do believe I’m interested.”

oOo

 “That man idiot.”

Chrollo looked up from his book, not expecting Feitan to speak. He looked around, followed his line of sight to the blond near the bar bragging to the barkeep. At his feet lay a large sack. Putting two and two together, Chrollo sighed. “If that’s what I think it is, then you are most certainly right.”

Feitan chuckled, swirling his glass in the condensation on the table. “It goods. Talk loud. Hear him talk, how he steal,” he passed on, the smile hidden beneath his collar lilting his words. There was a look in his eye when he pulled Chrollo’s book aside, one that said the rest for him. “Serve him right.”

Smiling, Chrollo marked his place and put his book in his bag. “I’ll run point then, let’s make this quick. I’m at a good part and I want to finish this tonight.”

It didn’t take any more prompting. In a flash, Feitan was gone, his empty glass rattling slightly from the speed of his exit. Chrollo cleared his throat a little, fixing his hair as he took in the target. Even at a glance, he could tell this was going to be embarrassingly easy.

The man was tall, looked to be well-built. The flush on his cheek suggested intoxication, the relaxed slope of his shoulders unconcerned with his surroundings or the wealth at his feet. It was almost unfair how simple it would be, but Chrollo merely squared his shoulders, downed the rest of his drink, and put on a sultry smile. If he was going to leave himself so open, then he was obviously asking for this to happen.

Sidling up to the bar, Chrollo ordered another drink. The man, as boastful and raucous as he was, broke away from his story to size him up.

Chrollo wasn’t quite prepared for him to slide closer, to lean into his personal space.

“Hey,” the man grunted, his eyes narrowed and not all that welcoming. “What do you want?”

Stunned, Chrollo didn’t quite know how to respond. He hadn’t anticipated hostility, not with how friendly he was to the bartender. This guy was a sucker though, his drinking and bragging proof enough. Throwing up a flirty smile, Chrollo angled himself into the stranger, his ankle hooking back to touch the edge of the bag still resting at their feet. “Just a drink is all. You from around here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before.”

The man’s entire face softened into something more friendly, though there was something about his eyes that set Chrollo on the defensive all the same. “Nah, I just came in for a drink. I wanted to celebrate, you see,” he explained with the intensity of the inebriated.

Humming along, Chrollo encouraged him to babble on, resuming his story from before as if he had never been interrupted. Honestly, it was embarrassing. On a whim, Chrollo pressed a little closer, feeling the man stiffen. He waited for him to slowly relax, fall back into his story, before looping the bag’s handle around his ankle and slowly raising it into his hand. The second the leather strap touched his fingers he darted for the exit.

He made it all of two steps before his arm was seized in an iron grip, the blond man dragging him back as easily as a child pulling the wings off a butterfly. Before he had time to call out, or the man had time to do anything more, Feitan was there. From his position, Chrollo couldn’t quite make out what he did to get the man to release his arm, but he heard a sharp yelp and felt the pressure ease. It was all he needed to slip away and sprint for the door, the bag still in hand.

The streets passed by in a blur on either side and Chrollo was aware of Feitan on his heels. He led them further, ducking down alleys and into all manner of nooks and crannies that would cut down on the possibility of the blond following them. Eventually, he stopped, rubbing errantly at his shoulder. It wasn’t easy to harm him, not normally at least, but he could feel the impression of the man’s hand bruising the meat of his arm.

“That not so easy,” Feitan muttered, leaning against a wall. “He strong, but we still win.”

Chrollo glanced down at the bag still in his hand, felt the soreness in his arm. “We need to go back,” he declared, making for the mouth of the alley. Feitan seized him by the sleeve, reeling him back.

The confusion was evident in his eyes. “Why? No, to0 risky, we go back home now.”

Biting his lip, Chrollo glanced down at the bag, his shoulder, then to Feitan. “Do you trust me, Feitan?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation, just confusion. 

“Then let’s go back. I want to talk to him. Call it intuition.”

With a sigh, Feitan pushed off the wall and walked to his side. “Fine. But if he fight then I kill.”

Chrollo couldn’t help but smile as he led the way back to the bar, the sound of the angry blond echoing from streets away as he searched for them. With a grip that strong, there was no way this man wouldn’t be interesting. He could only hope he’d listen to what he had to say.

It was past time that he did something with the allies he had made.

**Author's Note:**

> woot this was a lot of fun and i got to write a bunch of characters i dont usually write. check me out on tumblr (terminallydepraved) and let me know how you liked this! until next time~


End file.
